The Rustlers of Pecos County | Page 5

amaze and mirth. Then he got up from the steps and went into the
restaurant and was followed by the man called Jim. Before the door
was closed he made another remark, but it was unintelligible to me.
As I passed on I decided I would scrape acquaintance with this
restaurant keeper.
The thing of most moment was that I had gotten track of Steele. I
hurried ahead. While I had been listening back there moments had
elapsed and evidently he had walked swiftly.
I came to the plaza, crossed it, and then did not know which direction
to take. Concluding that it did not matter I hurried on in an endeavor to
reach the ranch before Steele. Although I was not sure, I believed I had
succeeded.
The moon shone brightly. I heard a banjo in the distance and a cowboy
sing. There was not a person in sight in the wide courts or on the porch.
I did not have a well-defined idea about the inside of the house.
Peeping in at the first lighted window I saw a large room. Miss
Sampson and Sally were there alone. Evidently this was a parlor or a
sitting room, and it had clean white walls, a blanketed floor, an open
fireplace with a cheery blazing log, and a large table upon which were
lamp, books, papers. Backing away I saw that this corner room had a
door opening on the porch and two other windows.
I listened, hoping to hear Steele's footsteps coming up the road. But I
heard only Sally's laugh and her cousin's mellow voice.
Then I saw lighted windows down at the other end of the front part of
the house. I walked down. A door stood open and through it I saw a
room identical with that at the other corner; and here were Colonel
Sampson, Wright, and several other men, all smoking and talking.

It might have been interesting to tarry there within ear-shot, but I
wanted to get back to the road to intercept Steele. Scarcely had I
retraced my steps and seated myself on the porch steps when a very tall
dark figure loomed up in the moonlit road.
Steele! I wanted to yell like a boy. He came on slowly, looking all
around, halted some twenty paces distant, surveyed the house, then
evidently espying me, came on again.
My first feeling was, What a giant! But his face was hidden in the
shadow of a sombrero.
I had intended, of course, upon first sight to blurt out my identity. Yet I
did not. He affected me strangely, or perhaps it was my emotion at the
thought that we Rangers, with so much in common and at stake, had
come together.
"Is Sampson at home?" he asked abruptly.
I said, "Yes."
"Ask him if he'll see Vaughn Steele, Ranger."
"Wait here," I replied. I did not want to take up any time then
explaining my presence there.
Deliberately and noisily I strode down the porch and entered the room
with the smoking men.
I went in farther than was necessary for me to state my errand. But I
wanted to see Sampson's face, to see into his eyes.
As I entered, the talking ceased. I saw no face except his and that
seemed blank.
"Vaughn Steele, Ranger--come to see you, sir." I announced.
Did Sampson start--did his eyes show a fleeting glint--did his face
almost imperceptibly blanch? I could not have sworn to either. But

there was a change, maybe from surprise.
The first sure effect of my announcement came in a quick exclamation
from Wright, a sibilant intake of breath, that did not seem to denote
surprise so much as certainty. Wright might have emitted a curse with
less force.
Sampson moved his hand significantly and the action was a voiceless
command for silence as well as an assertion that he would attend to this
matter. I read him clearly so far. He had authority, and again I felt his
power.
"Steele to see me. Did he state his business?"
"No, sir." I replied.
"Russ, say I'm not at home," said Sampson presently, bending over to
relight his pipe.
I went out. Someone slammed the door behind me.
As I strode back across the porch my mind worked swiftly; the
machinery had been idle for a while and was now started.
"Mr. Steele," I said, "Colonel Sampson says he's not at home. Tell your
business to his daughter."
Without waiting to see the effect of my taking so much upon myself, I
knocked upon the parlor door. Miss Sampson opened it. She wore
white. Looking at her, I thought it would be strange if Steele's
well-known indifference to women did not suffer an eclipse.
"Miss Sampson, here is Vaughn Steele to see you," I